[ A/N ] This is just a little one shot featuring the gorgeous jeanmarco paring. It's based on an rp that I did last night, so I can only take credit for half the story. I got lazy when I edited it, so let me know if there are any mistakes (Jean's not the only one who makes syntax errors.) Also, this is the first ending I've written.. so yeah... :S

Also, the cover art isn't mine. Credit goes to therealmarcobodt tumblr (let me know if you want me to take it down)

Marco watched from the back of the hall as Jean elected to join the Scouting Legion.

"No.. Jean... join the Military Police… go to the inner walls and be safe..." he called out, but alas, was heard by no one. He sighed and sat by the door, watching everyone leave, some with rather grim and frightened expressions on their faces. When Jean walked past, he reached up and tugged on his sleeve.

Jean froze mid step, and looked around the hall suspiciously. He was feeling down, and wondered if he was imagining things, as he saw nothing his shirt could have possibly snagged on.

"What the hell.." he muttered as he surveyed his surrounding comrades, looking for anyone displaying suspicious behaviour. He wasn't in the mood stupid jokes, and he was sure someone probably thought it would be funny to pull on his shirt. It was clear to Marco that Jean had noticed his touch, and it gave him hope that maybe he was finally getting through to Jean. He'd tried tapping and pulling on clothes, but until this moment, Jean had either never noticed or never payed it any attention. Feeling hopeful, Marco followed him close behind, occasionally uttering his name.

"Hey, Jean, it's me. Jean. You look down… it's alright though, I'm right here."

Jean could feel some sort of strange presence lurking behind him, but he shook it off and kept walking until he was back to his room in the nearby inn he and his fellow soldiers were temporarily staying in. When he opened the door, Marco quickly slipped inside the room after him. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't capable of phasing through walls, although he did have some difficulty physically picking up and moving objects. The room was very small, much like a cell, but Jean was relieved because at least he was by himself. He needed time to think, about his rash decision to join the Scouting Legion and about the slightly unusual occurrences that were happening around him. He lay down onto the bed and sighed.

Marco took a seat on the armchair by the bedside. He now realised that he was trapped inside the room. Sure, he could leave if he wanted to, but he didn't want to suddenly unlock and open the door, for fear that he'd startle Jean and worsen his mood. He'd probably have to spend the night in the room, which he didn't necessarily mind, but being unable to sleep meant it was probably going to be a long night. He exhaled and his breath, instead of ghosting over everything in its path as it usually did, blew out the only candle illuminating the room.

"Ah, sorry," he uttered, feeling pleased that he'd been able to impact his surroundings, but worried at the same time.

Jean had jumped as the candle blew out, seemingly on it's own. The windows were closed, and there was nothing in the room - to his knowledge - that could have caused a candle to blow out. It had honestly started him, as he'd been on edge all day. He had been thinking constantly about Marco, and then he had just made the big, and possibly stupid, decision to join the Scouting Legion. He wasn't in the best of moods, and the mysterious candle was enough to tip the scales.

"Damn it all!" he groaned, getting up and trying to find the matches. He couldn't so, sighing with defeat, he flopped back down on his bed, figuring he'd have to make do with the small sliver of moonlight that shone through the gap in the curtains. He didn't like sleeping in the dark because it made him feel isolated and alone. With everything that had happened, this was the last thing he needed. He lay on his side and stared intently into the darkness.

"Marco…" he mumbled as he closed his eyes. Hearing Jean say his name made Marco feel sick with happiness. He beamed, glad to know that Jean was still thinking about him. Noticing the box of matches Jean had been looking for, he picked them up and placed them next to Jean, pleased that he was able to physically move the object. Knowing that Jean still couldn't hear him, he blew out gently on Jean's face to get his attention.

"Mmm?" Jean groaned and turned around on the bed. Of course, nothing was there, except...the box of matches? That's weird… He had just looked all over the room, but wasn't able to find them anywhere. He brushed off the unsettling feeling he had and grabbed the box, striking up a match and relighting his candle.

"Today's just getting more and more fucked up," he sighed.

"I'm sorry..." Marco apologised, knowing that being 'half-present' was probably not making Jean feel better. He wanted to help, but he was starting to doubt he could do anything in his state. Thinking this, he turned to leave - maybe through the window - but tripped over the chair he had been sitting on, causing both himself and the chair to go crashing onto the floor. "Ah..."

"What the hell?!" Jean roared, feeling more scared than angry, really. "What has been going on lately?! Is this damn room haunted?!" He kicked the chair across the room, panting as he caught his breath. Marco yelped and pressed his back against the wall as the chair went flying, just barely missing his face.

"I'm sorry..." he said, tears welling up in his eyes as he knew it was his fault that Jean was reacting this way. He knew Jean was really stressed, upset and tired, and he knew that being with him was only elevating those feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He just wanted to be with Jean.

Jean sat back down on the bed, holding his head as tears started to fall. "Why...am I alone...everyone else..." he choked up, thinking about Connie and Sasha; Armin, Eren and Mikasa; Bertholdt and Reiner... All of them. They all had their best friends to help them through these tough and traumatic times, but he was alone…

"Why me..."

"J-jean..." Marco knew that it would probably make the situation even worse, but he couldn't stand it - seeing his best friend crying like that. He sat down on the bed next to Jean and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, "You're not alone..."

Jean sobbed into his hands but something caused him to stop and sit upright. He could have sworn he heard Marco. I must be going crazy. He smirked at at the thought, finding himself pitiful, but the pity turned quickly back into pain. Marco's eyes widened,

"Did you just hear me...?" He shook his head, knowing it would be better not to get his hopes up. He suddenly remembered Jean mentioning something about his mother tracing circles on his back whenever he got upset, so he started to do just that. "Please, don't cry... Just, think about how it makes me feel... I'm so sorry..."

"Ma-Marco!" Jean sobbed into his hands again, feeling quite unstable. He'd refused to let anyone see this side of him, so he'd been holding it in for awhile now, but his defences had been broken and he couldn't restrain his feelings. Something felt weird though. Like a cool chill was surrounding him, but it was somewhat relaxing and calming at the same time. The traces of the touch on his back were soothing, and he managed to calm down. He breathed in, holding his breath for ten seconds before breathing out and getting up to get a drink of water. He took a swig from his bottle and lay back down onto his bed, discarding the bottle lazily beside him. He held his hand in the air, balling it into a fist.

"Marco...I swear...I'll avenge you...I promise."

Marco picked up Jean's water bottle and set it upright to stop if from leaking onto his bed.

"I don't need you to do that Jean... " He smiled at the thought though - Jean can be caring in his own way, "But please... don't endanger yourself for my sake." He knew there was probably no point to speaking but, if anything, it was a form of stress relief for himself. After all, being invisible, being dead...a ghost? was not easy. It got lonely.

"Sometimes it feels like you're with me" Jean starts speaking aloud, "I can almost hear you, all the time, in my head..it's…no… God, look at me. This is so sad, I'm bloody talking to myself...talking to you…as if you can hear me. I wish I knew, Marco...I wish I knew if you really were here. I hope that all this weird shit that's happening is because of you…"

"It is, Jean!" Marco exclaims, practically jumping with joy. This was almost.. almost an acknowledgement of his presence. Was he being heard? "It's me! I'm right here.."

Jean turned his head and looked directly at Marco. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like there was a weird aura coming from that area, a presence perhaps. He rolled on to his side to face it and stared, half expecting for something to happen - to see something. He couldn't explain why he felt there was something there. Intuition?

"The more I think about you Marco..." he sighed, deciding he may as well let it out. If Marco really was there, he wanted him to know, and if he wasn't it wouldn't make a difference. Maybe it'd help him to be more at peace with himself, "…the more I think I loved you. I realise now that I didn't just want you, I needed you." He covered his face with his pillow, feeling dumb. Confessing to imaginary friends? Wow, I've hit a new low. Good one, Jean.

Marco widened his eyes and nearly stumbled backwards. If ghosts could blush, he'd be as red as a tomato. He stood blinking, dumbfounded and caught completely off guard.

"You.. you.." He always had words - something to say to Jean - so why now, was he completely speechless? Not that Jean would have been able to hear it anyway, but he felt like he should be saying something. He almost found it eerie that Jean was looking directly at him though. Curious to test whether he was actually being seen, he slowly moved to the side to see if Jean's gaze would follow. He figured that telling Jean that his feelings were, completely and utterly, returned could wait until he knew that they'd be heard.

"I'm the lamest fuckwad of all time" Jean grumbled as he got up, Marco still heavily on his mind. He wasn't content with that confession, and he suddenly felt the need to write down his feelings. He walked over and sat down at the desk in the corner of the room. Crossing his legs, he opened the drawer took out the quill, parchment and ink pot provided by the inn. He started to write, oblivious to the fact that Marco was reading the message over his shoulder.

Marco

You will probably never get this letter of course. I feel retarded for even writing a letter to you but maybe if i burn

it that way it maybe might be able to be with you or something. I don't know.

I guess what i wanted to say was that I think ive probably always had feelings for you but yeah i only realised

them when you said that thing to me, you know? Im sure you'd know which one i'm talking about. it really meant

a lot and I guess i was just surprised that someone would think that about me and yeah i don't know… but i really

miss you and yeah I just hope you're ok or whatever and I just wanted to let you know how I felt and yeah.

Jean hesitated, looking over the letter he had wrote so far. He wasn't sure if his grammar and syntax were correct, but he didn't really care about fixing it. After all, no one would ever read the letter. Or so he thought.

"Cute..." Marco muttered out loud as he read, smiling because seeing that Jean cared enough to do something like that really made him happy. When Jean placed the quill back into the ink pot, Marco knew what he had to do... well... what he wanted to do. He hesitated, thinking of the consequences, but then quickly snatched up the quill and slammed his hand down on the letter out of desperation. He wrote fast, but there wasn't enough ink on the quill, so his letter appeared etched into the paper.

Jean. Jean, Jean, Jean.

I'm so sorry this is probably so weird and it doesnt make any sense, but I'm here.

I know you cant see me, but I guess the fact that im writing this will give it away.

I remember what I said to you-

The quill slipped out of his hand as he tried to finish his sentence. He reached for it, but he couldn't pick it up. "No..!" he cried out as he tried to pick up the item once more. "No!"

Jean's eyes were plastered on the quill the entire time, as it scribbled away on the parchment before falling limp. He was feeling really scared now, but the fear was masked with sheer confusion. The heck? Am I hallucinating?! What the fuck is going on…

He held the parchment up to the candle, and was just about to burn it, when he noticed his name scratched multiple times into the paper.

"H-huh…?" He looked closer, thinking his eyes were deceiving him. There was a message and he strained his eyes trying to read it, to no avail.

He figured Armin would be able to make sense of the words, and his haunted room was giving him the creeps anyway, so he grabbed his key and left the room. He held the door open for a few seconds before locking it, just incase Marco was in there and wanted to leave. Marco was thankful for the opportunity and left the room after Jean, curious as to where he was going at this time of night, unsure whether Jean was able to read the message. He hoped he hadn't scared Jean by trying to communicate with him. He followed Jean until he stopped in front of door down the hall. Before knocking, Jean quickly ripped off the part he'd written on the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. After a while, the door was opened by, a half asleep, Armin. He'd clearly been woken up and his hair was all out of place from lying down. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Jean, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

"Huh..Jean..what are you doing? It's late..."

Jean invited himself into the room and held out the message.

"You're good at reading, right, Armin?!"

"Um..." Armin yawned, "Yeah, I guess? Why, did you need something?"

"I need you to read this. Please?" he added, desperately. Armin took the paper skeptically, his eyes communicating what he was thinking - 'it's blank…'

Jean understood what Armin was thinking, "Hold it in front of the light. You'll see etchings in it, or something…"

"Is it important?" Armin asks, noting Jean's desperate tone. He doesn't wait for an answer and takes the paper, holding it above the candle in his room. "It's kinda hard to read... " Jean figured that he should probably explain the situation to Armin before he read the letter, incase it would help it make more sense. He knew that, out of everyone, Armin would be least likely to laugh at him, which was another reason why he'd decided to go to Armin for help.

"Don't tell anyone - if you do, I swear I'll kill you - but I think I'm being haunted, or something like that. All the sudden, the quill was just moving on the paper, completely on its own."

"Uhuh.." Armin nodded, his confusion and concern for his friend clear. He'd managed to decipher most of the message, so he began reading it aloud.

Jean was in shock when Armin had read the words to him. Though they had been fragmented and didn't really form proper sentences, Jean knew clearly what the last part meant - 'remember said to you'.

"That's all it says.. from what I can gather" Armin said, yawning again. Jean was staring into space, thinking over the last words of the letter.

"It's Marco," he thought out loud, continuing to stare past reality.

"Jean..." Armin looked concerned. "I'm not going to completely shut down what you've told me, but that sounds very... unlikely. I know what dealing with grief is like - I mean, everyone here pretty much does - but I know it can do... weird things to your mind. Marco.. Marco's d-"

"Right here!" Marco shouts over the end of Armin's sentence, causing a sudden cool gust of wind to blow through the room. "I'm right.. here.."

Jean shivered and looked around the room, and then looked back at Armin with a furrowed brow.

"S-See! I'm not crazy, Armin! I'm not! He's...It must be Marco! He's here! He's with me!"

Armin just looked at Jean, his expression laced with concern, and a little sadness. He felt sorry for Jean. He must be going through a really hard time… He probably feels how I felt when I thought Eren had died… I wish there was something I could do to help. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe even to invite Jean to stay in his room if he needed company, but was interrupted before he could utter a single syllable.

"I..I have to go, Armin. Thank you!" Jean snatched the paper out of Armin's hands and ran down the hall, followed by Marco. He held the door open, again giving Marco time enter before entering himself and locking it behind him. He sat down on his bed, smiling. "Marco… Marco.. your'e here, aren't you? I'm not crazy, I'm really not...you're actually here."

"Jean!" Marco stood, facing Jean and beaming down at him. "Can you hear me? I'm right here!"

Jean still couldn't hear him, but if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine what Marco was saying.

"Marco...I...I have feelings for you. Please, if you can hear me, I… Just know that I have a lot of feelings for you, and that...and that I always will! Till my death, Marco, I won't love anyone else. I loved you... No, I love you." He hesitated, then felt dumb again. He waited, slightly hopeful, but of course, there was no reply. He had gotten excited over nothing. Maybe Armin was right… Maybe I'm just imagining all this to make myself feel better…

Marco was beginning to get really frustrated. He was trying his absolute hardest to be heard, to no avail.

"Jean! I hear you! I... I love you too... Oh gosh, why can't you hear me?!" He slumped to the floor, trying not to start sobbing uncontrollably in front of Jean, even if he couldn't see him. "You're not going crazy... you're driving me crazy..." The tears of frustration continued to well up and Marco found himself falling forward into Jean's lap, crying. Who cares about the consequences? At first, he thought he was lucky, like maybe he'd been given a second chance to be with Jean, but now he just felt like this could be some sort of eternal torture. How much longer would he stay invisible? "Jean... I'm right here" he sobs, repeating the phrase again, as it helped to convince himself that he was, indeed, still there.

Jean felt something fall into his lap and he stiffened. This must be Marco… it has to be... What else could it be? He never possessed vivid imagination, not even when he was a child. It had been awhile since Marco had died, so why would he suddenly be imagining something like this now, and not earlier?

"Ma-Marco..." he choked, hesitantly touching the area above his lap, his hand happening to fall onto Marco's head, though Jean couldn't really feel it. He gasped and pulled away. "C-cold..." … "Marco...is that you...? Please… just answer. Tell me I'm not going insane."

Marco breathed in through his nose, sniffing back his tears. He felt Jean's warm hand on his head and it was comforting, even if the contact was extremely brief. He wanted to feel that warmth again, but he felt upset that he wouldn't be able to offer the same warmth. He peeled himself away from Jean's lap and looked up into his eyes. His own felt puffy from crying, and he had to blink a few times before he could focus on Jean's face. He took a deep breath. It's now or never Marco. Looking, once again, into Jean's eyes, he spoke, the entire fibre of his being willing for his words to be heard.

"It's me, Jean. It's Marco."

Jeans eyes widened and his body surged backward against the wall, goosebumps raising over every inch of his body. He had seen Marco's face in front of him. He had seen it. He had seen Marco's half-face, and he had also heard him. It was him. It really was him. It was his ghost. He was still... not alive, but...there. That's all that mattered. He couldn't help but feel a little shaken up though because the image of Marco after his death still frightened him, and it hurt to remember it.

"Marco..." he repeated, staring into the space where Marco had appeared. "It really is you..."

Marco reached a hand up to cover the right side of his face. He'd completely forgotten about it until he'd seen Jean's reaction, and was suddenly feeling self conscious. He hadn't actually seen what he looked like - mirrors not showing his reflection, after all - but he could feel what was missing and knew it probably wasn't a pretty sight. He was regenerating - as he liked to put it - but it was incredibly slow. His right arm was now, finally, functional, but there was still a gaping hole in the side of his head. Seeing something like that suddenly appear in the dark...

"Ah.. I'm sorry! I forgot about the... face. It um.. well, it doesn't hurt, so you don't need to worry."

"Marco..." Jean still couldn't hear him properly, but he knew, he knew for a fact now that he was there. "Marco... If you can hear me, I just want you to know, Im sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"

"Sorry? Why are you apologising? You haven't done anything wrong..." Marco sighed. He realised that his words were not getting across, or they were, but they were broken. It wasn't fair. He could hear Jean perfectly, so why couldn't he communicate back. Everything was too frustrating, but Jean was making the effort to communicate, so he wouldn't give up either. He was so close.

"I… I can almost see you," Jean admitted eyes wide and mouth hanging open, as he did see a very slight mist, a figure, in the light of the candle where he thought Marco was. He lay down on the bed, positioned on his side, and tapped the empty space on the mattress. Marco figured Jean had wanted him to lie there so they could fall asleep together, just like when they shared adjacent beds back during training. He didn't mind that he, himself, couldn't sleep, because if that's what Jean wanted, he'd lie there all night. He positioned himself on the bed, and Jean knew he was there as mattress shifted slightly with the added weight, even if it wasn't much.

Jean's mind started to race as he stared into the empty in front of him. He could picture Marco's face, right there. He could even count all sixty-two of Marco's cute freckles. His heart suddenly started thumping in his chest. Sure, it was a ghost, and it might not even be there, but this could be his only chance. Ever. He couldn't let the chance go. He closed his eyes and rolled them under his lids, feeling both embarrassed and stupid, and leant forward. He stopped where he guessed Marco's face would be and placed a kiss against the air, feeling a cold sensation against his lips.

Marco could almost feel heat rushing to his face as Jean placed a kiss onto his nose. He smiled and shifted closer, wanting to feel more of Jean's warmth. He figured Jean was probably aiming for his lips, but was glad, in a way, because his lips were still slightly... missing. He half-smiled and returned the gesture with an eskimo kiss - rubbing his nose against Jean's.

Jean could feel the cold against his nose, and he knew it was Marco - that was definitely something Marco would do. He laughed and cried out at the same time, overcome with mixed emotions. "Marco..." he whimpered, "I'm happy..."

He was completely exhausted, and his eyelids began closing on their own. He curled closer to Marco and was out cold in a matter of seconds. Marco would have been happy enough just to see Jean looking so peaceful and content, but the feeling of Jean's warm breath blowing into his hair made it even better. His own eyelids suddenly started to feel incredibly heavy, a feeling he had long since forgotten, and his breathing began to slow. He smiled as he heard Jean mutter in his sleep, before he, too, joined Jean in his slumber.

"It's warm…"